


An Awakening

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, Graphic Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26280214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by Leigh - Shadowfax429Frodo awakens in Rivendell after his clash with the Nazgul, happy to be alive and eager to rejoice at his second chance at life.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 4
Collections: Least Expected





	An Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: This scene appeared in my mind 20 years ago, when I first read the TFOTR, and was concretized when I saw the film. No disrespect meant to JRRT's original work.  
> Feedback: "Yes, please."

Cerulean eyes flashed open in startled surprise. Fear clapped icy fingers around his thrumming heart and squeezed in gentle suffocation. For a moment his mind did not register its peaceful surroundings and dwelt instead on its last horrific image, that of the Nazgul crossing the Ford to lay claim of his soul...and the Ring...for the Dark Lord. But slowly, finally, as his wide eyes took in the lush, golden surroundings, he realized that he was free of the clutches of The Nine, and he relaxed his dark, curly head against a pillow so deep and luxuriant that it caressed his flamed cheeks, while a fragrant mattress equally sumptuous enveloped his weary body with a lover's embrace. Above his head, a graven image of a beautiful Elven princess stood watch over him, arms opened wide, as if protecting him from the darkest hideousness the bowels of the earth could produce. The burning pain and numbness in his chest, shoulder and arm was gone...replaced by the soothing rays of Elrond's potent remedy.

He was safe, safe in the fold of Rivendell, in the house of Elrond Halfelven, and amongst the fairest people in all of Middle-Earth. A sigh of relief escaped Frodo's lips that reached all the way down into his belly, and he snuggled deep into his warm, silken bedding in a haze of refuge and comfort that seemed almost obscene to be borne. "Obscene?" he thought boldly. "Then let it be so! I have been rescued nearly from the dragon's gullet, and I will revel in my recovery and welcome every fair being to lave my body with pleasure for I have been born again!"

Yet even as he thought this, his cheeks crimsoned further with such a concept. He, Frodo, wifeless and a virgin at the age of 50...young by hobbit years, but well into adulthood...inviting all to feast on him as if he were a king's banquet. His hands slid over his body, a little plump but still very slender by corpulent hobbit standards. Lifting the cool, soft gown that had been put on him, he laid his open hands on warm flesh, running them over his slightly rounded belly, reaching to the tops of his smooth thighs...which was about the extent of the range of his hobbit-sized arms. He closed his eyes almost in embarrassment, his plush lashes making twin crescents on his full cheeks, as his fingertips began their ascent up the velvetness of his inner thighs. His right palm fluttered quickly over the rigid organ now burning his skin with its own heat, and his breath caught in his throat at the pleasure even so light a touch could bring. In apprehension and furtiveness, his eyes squinted open...a shimmer of blue fire...to assure himself that he indeed was alone in the large room. It was so. He pulled the gown over his head, letting it fall to the floor with a soft flutter, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of his own body, his small but graceful hand gripping an organ that was generous for the diminutive realm of hobbits. Nay! he told himself in contented exultation as his closed fist fell far short of encircling it, Not only for Hobbits, but to be sure for Elves, Dwarves and Men as well!

His breath came in heavy gasps as his arousal increased with each passing second. Kicking the coverlet off him, he pointed his knees at the high, etched ceiling, and lifted his hips from the bedding in a gentle, undulating rhythm...one hand cradling his swollen scrotum, while the other stroked a penis that was already close to disgorging its thick seed. Already, a clear, viscous honey dribbled from the tip, an unmistakable herald of orgasm closing in. Frodo released the gentle grip of his scrotum to touch the glossy, maroon head, letting the syrupy juice coat his fingers, then bringing the fingers to his lips to taste his own salty-sweetness. He shuddered in the double-ecstasy of complete safety and sexual bliss, and redoubled his efforts, desperately longing to feel the beauty of the orgasm slam his every nerve ending with a pleasure not found anywhere else in nature.

Suddenly, urgent footsteps padding toward the closed door of the bedchamber made his heart falter in his chest. He quickly threw the coverlet back over himself, his entire body crying out with pain at the thwarted orgasm, as the door burst inward and his loyal manservant Samwise entered the room, anxiety and concern crossing his usual jovial brow. When he saw Frodo awake and gazing at him, he capered with happiness. "Mr. Frodo, Mr. Frodo! Oh so glad I am that you're awake at last! I was so worried...I...I didn't know what I was going to do if you left me." He approached the edge of the bed and, bending low over him in relief, he placed a hand over Frodo's wrist in a warm gesture of affection. Then he raised his head, his grip on Frodo's wrist tightening, and concern once again furrowed his forehead. "Mr. Frodo...your heart. It's beating so wildly. It feels like mighty drums in your wrist. Are you all right?"

Frodo relaxed against the pillow in exasperation, a half-grin twinkling his face. Nothing was secret from Samwise. "Yes, Sam, I'm fine. I'm just...well...very glad to be alive."

Instantly, Sam's merry cheeks broadened into a knowing smile. "I think I understand, Mr. Frodo, and you know you really shouldn't be doing anything for yourself right now, you don't want to relapse! When I think how we could be without you right now, why...it would be doom for not only Middle-Earth but for me as well. You know I...oh Mr. Frodo, sir, you do know how I feel about you, don't you, sir?" A blush spread across Sam's face and he hung his head down so low that his crown looked wholly like a curly, blond mop-end.

"Yes, Sam, of course I know," Frodo said tenderly. "I love you, too."

At those words, Sam reacted with such a sincere glee that Frodo's heart melted for his loyal friend, and any reservation he may have harbored withered on the vine. Without another word, he pulled back the coverlet and his eyes shined up at Sam. They spoke of an invitation that he could not speak with his voice. Sam hesitated only for a moment, but not before Frodo noticed the surprise registering in his friend's warm brown eyes...surprise with just a touch of eagerness. As Sam slid between the sheets, Frodo's heart began to triphammer again, as he anticipated what was to follow. Completely innocent concerning any act of love save that which he enjoyed alone and not knowing what else to do, he shyly turned his back to Sam and the two of them nestled in the crook of each other's bodies. Sam's arm slid securely over his master's left side and he held his naked belly firmly, while his lower body curved against and pressed into the round, plump flesh of his buttocks. Frodo quivered at Sam's first touch...the fire that had been prematurely doused at Sam's unexpected arrival now flared and burned with an unquenchable flame, and he felt his penis throb painfully against his belly. Sam's hand lay mere inches away...which only served to heighten his excitement.

He squirmed deliberately, in so doing attempting to impel Sam's hand to touch him. His gasp was audible as fingertips not his brushed his organ. Sam made no move to pull away, but instead whispered in his ear, "Mr. Frodo, sir, you feel so warm, so good. It wasn't long ago when you felt cold as the knife that pierced you, and I watched you in this very bed and cried, fearing you were leaving me. I'm so glad...that you're not..." Frodo started, his eyes widening with both fear and pleasure. Sam's arousal was quite evident, or so it felt in the form of his hard, fat penis pushing through his breeches at his buttocks. He rubbed the rigid mound rhythmically in an up and down motion against his hot crevice, and Frodo was hardly aware that he was returning the motion with an equal ardor. For several breathless moments they continued, clothed pelvis grinding against plump, naked cheeks. No words were spoken, none needed to be spoken. Frodo's arousal increased threefold, and he felt that he could easily orgasm within another half-minute just by this act. His soft, muffled cries reached Sam's ears, whose hand finally closed firmly over his glutted penis...cries of approaching orgasm and frustration at it ending so soon. At the last possible moment, he wrenched himself from Sam's grasp, instead turning over on his back and pulling Sam down on top of him. Their full, inquisitive lips sliding sensuously together in a penetrating kiss, probing tongues caressing, sucking, small teeth nibbling.

"You do love me," Sam murmured in total humility, as if he considered himself not worthy of love. "You do, oh you do!" His lips left Frodo's and set a moist course over his smooth chest, which not a single hair defamed. Curly locks might decorate their feet and head, but none dared to show itself on a hobbit chest. Frodo whimpered softly as he felt Sam's cupid's-bow lips close over his red, pointed nipples...first the left, then the right, then the left again, biting the left one lightly with careful teeth. His mouth never left Frodo's nipples as he began to snake a hand down over the sweet belly and between the soft thighs, exploring, searching for a tight, warm sheath for his index finger.

Sam found what he was searching for and deftly entered it, making Frodo gasp softly. Gentle he was, so tender as if he was fondling the most fragile glass in all Middle-Earth. Frodo relaxed against his touch, opening himself to him, giving himself up with complete trust as he always did to his loyal servant. Sam's tender thrusts turned the fire in his belly into a seething volcano. Involuntarily, his hand touched his penis, and he was wet...oozing a continuous stream of honey that coated his fingertips. Soon he felt Sam gently pushing his hand away, and a hot mouth cautiously tasted his knob, liked what it tasted, and enfolded his shaft down to the base. He felt himself pulsing against Sam's throat, and Frodo clenched his teeth, muffling the groan with a firm hand over his mouth. Suddenly he was seized by a desire so strong that it bordered on madness. At the same time, almost as if he read his mind, Sam said passionately, "I don't know as I could hold out much longer, Mr. Frodo. I'm so hard it hurts, and it's leaking so much that the front of my breeches are wet straight through."

Turning to him almost violently (violent for the usually gentle Hobbit, at any rate), Frodo took hold of the top of Sam's breeches and in one fell swoop nearly tore them off his body. At last, Sam's firm member was free of its binding, and Frodo held it lovingly, stroking the length of it, yearning for the throbbing, living feel of it inside him...and then turned his back to him once more. "Rub it against me now, Sam. Hurry...oh please do it now." Sam wavered, not wanting to hurt him. "By all the Shire, do it now!" Frodo cried, and he fell to harsh gasps as the large organ slid remarkably easily into him. Any momentary discomfort vanished quickly for Frodo and he matched Sam's increasingly swift thrusts with his own.

"Oh...Mr. Frodo, sir...oh, you can't imagine..." puffed Sam as the incredibly tight orifice bathed his penis with pure ecstasy. His hand slid around Frodo's body and closed firmly on his quivering organ and he pumped the thick shaft, smiling proudly to himself at Frodo's pleasurable cries.

Their orgasms caught both of them simultaneously. The instant Frodo felt the hot, urgent spurts warm inside his lower belly, his own unleashed with a fervor he had not felt before. His creamy seed fountained over Sam's caressing hand...a copious load indeed...and tears sprang to the corners of his eyes as the intensity of the orgasm seemed to magically transport him to the burning center of the sun, where he sobbed with unutterable torment and unbelievable gratification. Sam's ragged breath was hot on the back of his neck, making him shudder uncontrollably. Their orgasms waned yet they still remained locked together, moving gently, as if they were afraid to release, afraid the magic would evaporate and never be recaptured.

"Foolish Hobbits!" thundered a voice at the foot of the bed. Two pairs of frightened eyes looked up wildly to behold Gandalf, his bushy brows lowered in annoyance. "Indulging your own selves when there is much work to be done! The Council is called. If you are not there within a quarter-hour, we will move the Council to this bedchamber, and I shall turn you both into a joined statue so that you may enjoy yourselves into eternity."

They both stammered in agonized embarrassment as they struggled to break free of each other. "Forgive us, Gandalf!" Frodo finally had found his voice. "I...we...I am just so happy to be here, and...well...Sam is my loyal manservant, after all, and..."

"Be still!" Gandalf roared. Then his face took on another, softer look, and a glimmer kissed his careworn eyes. "The House of Rivendell soothes and refreshes tired minds and bodies, and you have felt enough stress so far on this Quest to fell ten strong men. The Elves have long been renowned throughout Middle-Earth for their talent in all manner of love. Elrond would commend you, of that I have no doubt. But," he added, beginning to glower again, "not when you indulge on HIS time." One wrinkled eye winked under the brim of his ancient, hooked hat. And with that, he exited the room in three strides of his long legs, shouting out, "A quarter-hour, remember!" over his shoulder as the door slammed shut him.

Frodo and Sam giggled to each other, both in relief and happiness that Gandalf understood. They dressed quickly for the Council, never skeptical that he would make good on his threat if they did not show up within the appointed time. "Never fear, Sam," Frodo said softly, "we will have several more nights in fair Rivendell before we must continue with this dark journey."

"That we will, Mr. Frodo," said a very happy Sam, as he fixed his master with loving eyes. "That we will."

**THE END**


End file.
